The rose, the fox, and the aviator
by Shirai Hisaishi
Summary: From asteroids 325 to 330, they asked the same question: "You must be the Little Prince?" But I'm telling you, I am not. I am Len and I am the Little Prince's grandson. He asked me to look for the unseen, so here was I, travelling to the places he visited long time ago.
1. Chapter 1

**The rose, the fox, and the the aviator.**

(I)

When I was a little boy, my grandfather had told me a lot of things. There were few things to be seen in our place, but his tales were beyond what I could see from our tiny dwelling. It was such a small planet where we lived in, by moving our chair we could watch sunsets forty and four times. But my grandfather told me that it was such a sad habit — to watch the sunset, that is.

In mornings I would help him clear the growing baobabs, tend his rose, and heat water from his volcanoes. I would watch him and his friendly fights with his young rose, that albeit had appeared from the earth when my grandfather was so much younger, it remained youthful every after she completed her cycle. She was just like any plant, any flower in fact, ephemeral and vulnerable. So no matter how vexing her vanity was, grandfather perfectly understood her. He had been tending her since his hair was gold, and until now that it was crowning gray.

Whenever I would offer him my help in watering or weeding his rose, he would refuse. His frail finger would point to the small box lying on the opposite side of this asteroid where his sheep was kept. "Free him and let him clear the baobabs," he'd say. And I knew enough that he was talking about the young ones. Baobabs had no chances to grow taller above my knees, since we do our living by keeping the planet clear from colossal baobabs. I would abide and cast him a last glance, a look that was often wondering why I couldn't tend his rose in his place.

We would do the same routine hours before dusk. In our planet, things grew rather quick — as swift as the daybreak turns to a nightfall. So we would plough the earth and weed again, throw the caterpillars and save one or two to be butterflies. I would stroll the sheep while grandfather talked to his rose, and I would be wondering about the rose for the rest of the day. When the sky was already dark and we could see the neighboring asteroids, I would watch my grandfather stare at them — even farther ahead. His gaze was blank but blissful, just like his pointless arguments with his rose and her coughing. I see no entertainment in staring at the starry sky, for it was the same sky I was seeing since I was born.

One time in the quietness of evening after our peaceful dinner, I finally asked my grandfather the things I always wanted to know the answers.

"Grandpa," I said, eyeing him like the usual curious boy I was. "Why can't I water the rose in your place? You are weak nowadays, and picking up the sprinkler is a bother to you. Especially when you have rheumatism."

Grandpa remained silent. His wrinkles might have deceived me, for he looked like he was smiling under the starlight. He only blinked his fading blue eyes and sighed.

"Grandpa," I called again, wanting to hear an answer. I had lots of things to learn. "Why can't I water the rose in your place?"

"Well, because I don't want you to." His voice was throaty and weary due to old age. If I only knew that the reason was as plain as that, I shouldn't have asked at all. I thought that was all, but he added something after some minutes elapsed. In this little planet, my grandfather used to be the little prince, but he is now an aged prince.

"She is my rose." He said, head turning to where the rose was standing. She was there, sleeping quietly, sheltered under my grandfather's glass globe. "There are hundreds of roses and they all look the same; there are hundreds of old men and the lines and wrinkled skin make them look alike; there are thousands of old men tending their flowers, but this rose was unique for me as I was unique for her."

My grandfather met my gaze. I was puzzled with what he was saying. As though he understood why I was gaping at him, he continued.

"We may look just like any old man looking after his garden, but she is _my_ rose. You have to find your rose to tend yourself." Grandfather smiled at me. It was his genuine smile that made him look so much younger, as if in a blink of an eye I was talking to a child and not an aged man. "Before the break of dawn attend your duties, then leave to find what's in the rose that makes it special."

"I don't want to," I told him. I was only offering a hand to aid him with his rose, but I never meant that I want to take care of an arrogant rose. Her pride would be her end one day. "You are certainly queer. Who would want to look after a rose with a pride bigger than our place? It is as queer as your habit of staring at the sky, grandpa. I don't understand you."

My grandfather stifled a laughter. I somewhat felt insulted, knowing that I never said a funny thing at all. After his groggy laughter, he let out a sigh of relief.

"You spoke like a grown-up. Things need no explanation, Len. You're still a child." My grandfather patted my head. He would always say those things to me, that I am still a child and things need no explanation. "If you want to know what's with the rose, why I am staring at stars, and why things need not to be explained to a child, before the break of dawn, ask the migrating birds to take you to the places I had visited."

I have thought about what he said for the entire night. It felt like I have fallen asleep some minutes ago when I heard the fluttering of hundred wings. The morning came without notice.

"Good morning," I mumbled to myself and hopped down from my bed. Grandfather was already awake, and he was carrying something in his arms.

"Good morning, Len." He smiled and walked to me, giving a pair of shirt and pants that I never had seen before. The clothes were both lime in color. Grandfather asked me to wear them. I did it, and it fit me surprisingly. I wanted to ask who owned this clothes, but before I could voice my query, I was interrupted when grandfather pulled out a golden muffler. He wrapped it around my neck and ushered me outside the house.

"It's almost time," he said, smiling down to me. "The birds are waiting for you. Now, go and find the answers to your questions."

The birds dropped down a cord, asking me to hold on it. I was hesitant at first, because I somehow felt guilty for speaking that way to him last night. "Grandpa, I'm sorry for saying those ridiculous things about your rose. Can I stay?"

But the birds flapped their wings and I was slowly lifted up from the ground. "I'm not mad, Len. Children learn through experience. I want you to see the things you cannot see, and then you will understand. If ever you see the pilot again, tell him my greetings."

And I had lot more questions that were never asked, for the birds hoisted me from the ground. If my grandfather was puzzling enough, you could imagine how confused I was when he yelled lastly, "if you find a rose, or a fox, or the pilot himself, don't come back."

I don't understand my grandfather's thinking at all.

* * *

It was a lonely quiet flight. If it wasn't because of the birds' flapping wings, I could have gone mad with this eternal silence. After a long journey, the birds found a place to rest. It was the neighborhood of asteroids 325, 326, 327, 328, 329, and 330. And these birds familiar to my grandfather's journey before, landed on the first asteroid. They said I should visit them in order, just like what the little prince did when he was still little—and young.

"You're probably the new little prince?" The oldest bird asked me as I looked around this asteroid. It seemed inhabited other than the small family of mice living beneath the long ermine that almost covered the entire planet. It was small, a room bigger than B-612.

"I cannot be the little prince," I said, looking back at her small round eyes. "I am his grandson. Grandfather can be the only little prince."

He remained quiet just like the rest of the flock, and I told him that I would wander a little to find something amusing in this place. After several steps, I found the only person living in this asteroid, he was a king seated on his throne that was both simple and majestic. Clad in royal purple and ermine — he was the wearer of the white fur covering his planet.

"Ah! You have come back," the king exclaimed as he saw me approaching.

And I ask myself:

"How can he say that when we never have met?"

But soon I realized, he was talking about my grandfather when he visited this place.

"You must be the Minister of Justice my great grandfather talked about. You see, he was old so he passed away. However, he left a word about the wandering prince. I can see that you are still the same, never had grown at all?" The king narrowed his eyes to me, cupping his chin as he leaned forward to have a clearer view.

"Approach, so I may see you better," said he, who felt too overjoyed seeing me. "You had the same golden hair like what his tale told."

I had seen the entire planet but everything was crammed and obstructed my his magnificent ermine coat. And my tired legs wanted to rest but there seemed no place for me to sit. I yawned and stretched my arms in front of him.

"It is contrary to etiquette to yawn in the presence of the king." He looked disappointed as he brushed his midnight-blue forelocks away from his eyes. "I forbid you to do anything without my consent. I forbid you to yawn."

"But I have done it already." I said, frowning at him. "I am not your Minister of Justice, neither the traveler the old king talked about. I am his grandson and my name is Len." I yawned again, neglecting to ask permission. Asking permission to do things occurring naturally is absolutely ridiculous. "You see, I am from a long journey and I am tired."

"Well, I am your King Kaito who has been the king for nineteen years now—ever since I was born." The king pulled his ermine coat to give me some space so I could sit. "I order you to sit, Len."

And so I sat on the ground. I looked around and I could see the birds from where I am. It was a lonely planet with a king who was ruling over nothing but a family of mice. I turned back to look at him, and he was just smiling at me.

"King Kaito, can I ask you something?" I asked.

He looked delighted when I spoke. He replied, "go on and ask. That's an order."

It was ridiculous, really. Maybe I would try asking him if I could inhale a bit of _his_ air. "Sire—over what do you rule?"

"Over everything," said King Kaito with magnificent simplicity.

I could not see what _'everything'_ King Kaito was talking about. And so I repeated, "over everything?"

He made a gesture, which took in his planet, the other asteroids, and the stars. He was not only ruling in this empty planet, but also in the entire universe. He was an absolute monarch, but I never had known him as my king.

"And do the stars obey you?" I peered at him curiously as he sat back on his throne.

"They certainly do." He flicked his forelocks away from his eyes again, and leaned his cheek to his right palm. "I do not permit insubordination. I am a king and a king's word is absolute."

That was some authority I never had have heard. Back in B-612, I do obey whatever my grandfather would ask me to do, so maybe grandpa counted as a king. But he never talked to the stars, he only stared at them. Maybe he couldn't ask them to follow his will like King Kaito's.

If the stars obey King Kaito, maybe I can ask him to tell me why grandpa stares at them every night. "The stars . . . do me the kindness . . . ask them to tell me why grandpa stares at them."

"Hum! Hum!" The king straightened from his seat and looked up to the sky. "If I ordered a rat to change himself to a cat, or if I ask a general to grow wings, if they fail to fulfill my wish, which one of us is wrong?" King Kaito smiled at me, "the rat, the general, or myself?"

"You." I pointed out.

"Exactly. I do not ask people to do things they cannot do. Orders shall be reasonable." He leaned back against his throne, shoulders slacked off as if a burden was lifted from him. "One should ask something one can do.'

"Then the stars...?" It was a disappointment for him to talk like that. He could have simply refused.

"You can know the answer when you find it yourself."

I stood from my seat and bowed at him. "Then I don't have anything to do here," I walked back to the flock of birds, but the king called me back.

"Don't leave! Don't leave—my great grandfather told me that once the little prince came back, I should keep him. He was the only subject the former king had talked to."

"But I was not the little prince," I answered, scratching the back of my ears with my small hands. "And you cannot ask the stars, because they won't talk to you—or to anyone. Your power is nothing but ceremonial. I do not understand you,"

"I will make you the Minister of Justice—just like your grandfather!"

"Nothing in here can be judged," I shot him a questioning look.

"I heard that there was rat and its family were living somewhere. You can judge them," King Kaito was fretful and uneasy, his magnificent simplicity fell like our sunsets and daybreaks—too quick.

"Why would I judge a family of mice? Aren't your authority for beings like us, alone? It's not like they can obey your orders, anyway? Even if you look grand and noble, I can't understand why is there a rat inhabiting your planet? Do all monarchs had hidden filth? I have a long journey awaiting to be continued, King Kaito."

He only stared at me, probably astounded with whatever I just told him. I haven't told something too hard to understand, right? When I heard no answer, I walked away and held the cord, and the birds took me to the neighboring planet.

* * *

The next planet was inhabited by a conceited man.

"Ah! I haven't seen an admirer for some years!" The conceited man exclaimed from afar. Even if we haven't landed on his planet, he already greeted us.

He has this long lilac hair flowing down from his shoulders to his waist. Atop his head sits a tall hat that looked as ridiculous as his wide smile.

"Good morning," I said as soon as my feet touched the ground. The night had passed after we left the first planet. "That is a queer hat you are wearing."

"It is a hat for salutes." He answered, peering down at me with curiosity. "You must be the little prince? My great grandfather talked a lot about your brief visit—because you're the last admirer he had seen."

I frowned at him like how I frowned at King Kaito. "I am not the little prince. My grandfather is the little prince, I am his grandson. My name is Len."

He stood straight and puckered his lips, eyes narrowing at the flock of birds behind me. "The flock of birds, the dress, the scarf . . . you surely looked like what my great grandfather was talking about. Well then, if you insist, my name is Gakupo."

"Your hat is queer." I told him, dodging the talk about grandfathers and names. I ought to find the unseen.

"As I already told you, this is a hat for salutes. It is to rise when people praise me. Unfortunately, nobody at all passes this way." His face looked sad for a second, but he quickly grinned at me like a proud man. But I see nothing to be proud of.

"Uh?"

"Clap your hands, one against another." He told me and I did so. The conceited Gakupo raised his hat in a modest salute.

"This is more entertaining than to visit the king," I mumbled to myself and clapped my hands again, one against the other. But after five minutes of clapping my hands and raising his hat, there were nothing else to do.

"If I have to clap so you'll raise your hat, what shall I do to make the hat come down?" Gakupo only smiled to me. I just proved that conceited people had their ears only for compliments.

"Do you admire me that much?" And he was full of himself. He was a conceited man after all.

"What does that mean—admire?"

"To admire means to regard me the 'most' everything in the planet — the handsomest, the richest man, and the most intelligent in the planet."

"I admire you," because he was truly beautiful, but I could so no reason why he would claim that he was worthy of my admiration. "But what is there in that to interest you so much? You're the only man in this planet, so all those descriptions go to you."

"Do me the kindness, just admire the same."

"You only salute when you are praised—that is certainly queerer than your hat."

And with that, the birds took me away from his planet. These people were odd. And I was not odd enough like them for grandpa to regard me as a grown-up.

* * *

From where I am right now, it will take us some time to reach the third planet. For some reason it is a little far from the second asteroid, so I decided to take a nap while the birds carry me toward it. When I opened my eyes we are almost there, so I pushed away the urge to nap again.

However, I did not expect this visit to be short and down in the mouth.

"What are you doing?" I asked as I approach the tippler who was surrounded by a collection of empty bottles and bottles full of alcohol. The air smelled bitter and suffocating, it got stronger as I closed the distance to her.

She bobbed her head up to me, her cheeks were burning in redness. Her hand tugged her brown locks away and I saw a clearer view of her face.

"I am drinking," she replied, grabbing another bottle full of alcohol.

"Why are you drinking?"

"To forget," she replied as she chugged the bottle empty.

"To forget what?" I was already feeling sorry for her. I couldn't decipher why people drink until they can't think straight.

"That I am ashamed!" She hiccupped and did her best to blink her eyes fully. "Why do you ask a lot of things, little man?"

"Ashamed of what?" I demanded, trying to understand her reasons.

"Ashamed of drinking!"

How circular, I thought as I grabbed the cord. "I'm certainly not thinking like grown-ups. I shall tell grandpa about this thing." Feeling sorry for this tippler that I never heard her name, the birds took me somewhere else.

* * *

The next planet belonged to a businessman. His face was almost buried on his papers as he grumbled incoherently. His golden hair reminded me of my grandfather's hair when he was not as old as he was right now, and I had my hopes that man was unlike the previous men I met, albeit he had not noticed my arrival.

"Good morning," I told him. "Your cigarette has gone out."

He still didn't raise a head to acknowledge my presence. Instead, he grumbled what appeared to be a computation to me and continued still, until he finally threw his head up and said, "phew! Then that makes five-hundred-and-one-billion, six-hundred-twenty-two-million, seven-hundred-thirty-thousand, eight-hundred-seventy-and seven."

His purple eyes meet my gaze, his brows furrowed as soon as he saw me. "Good morning, are you the one who greeted me?" Before I could answer he looked back on his papers and began computing again.

"Five hundred billion what?" I asked.

But he grumbled again, carefully adding numbers I don't know what. "Eh? You won't leave yet? My great grandfather told me that you disturbed him from counting stars before. Am I to suffer the same fate? Five-hundred-and-one-billion . . . I can't stop! My grandfathers are concerned with the matters of consequence and I have no time for twaddles. Six-hundred-twenty-two-million . . ."

"Five hundred billion what?" I repeated. I never liked it when people leave me puzzled when they say things foreign to me—my grandfather was a different talk, though.

This time he sighed in exasperation as he raised his head to me. It was clear that he was crossed—all grown-ups were easily crossed anyway—and the sharp look his purple eyes were giving me was austere. If looks could slice things into three, I must have been sliced into three.

"During the twenty years I inhabited this planet, I have been disturbed only thrice. First was when a woman from the neighboring planet offered me a glass of drink that knocked me out for the entire day! Imagine how many things I lost count that time! Fortunately, I convinced her to move to the next planet. The second time, it was right after that woman, I was unable to get up the next day because my head was spinning and hammering. And the third time — I was just saying it, but you came here just like what you did to my great grandfather. I was about to say five-hundred-and-one-billions . . ."

"I am not the kid who disturbed your great grandfather," I frowned at him like how I frowned to King Kaito, Gakupo, and the drunken woman. "But billions of what?"

The businessman heavily slammed his hands on his tables, taking his eyes away from his paper to scrutinize me. "You are the little prince. You are still little, who else can you be?"

"I am little because I am a boy. My name is Len. I am the little prince's grandson—and he is no longer little, he is old. Well, he is my grandfather." He looked interested and amused. "And billions of what?"

When I asked the same question, the businessman's brows almost bumped. He swiftly winced and let out a sigh as if he realized that I wouldn't give up until I heard a proper answer. "Alright, uh—grandson-of-the-little-prince—"

"You can call me Len,"

"Okay," his eyes narrowed. "Len, I am Nero and I am a businessman. You see, I am busy counting those _'billions of little things',_ which you usually see from the sky."

"Oh! Flies?"

"No, the glowing ones." He sounded crossed again.

"Oh! Fireflies?"

"No," he snapped in a surly manner. "Those things glowing in the sky that draw men to wish and hope and rely on nothing but false hopes." His hand brushed his golden fringe up, and then he looked back at me. " 'Little golden objects that set lazy men to idle dreaming. I am concerned with the matters of consequence. There is no time for idle dreaming in my life.' My great grandfather surely told the little prince the same thing."

"Ah, the stars!" I exclaimed.

"That's it! The stars!"

"What do you do with five-hundred billions of stars?"

"Five-hundred-and-one-billion, six-hundred-twenty-two-million, seven-hundred-thirty-thousand, eight-hundred-seventy-and-seven—stars. I am concerned with the matter of consequences. I am accurate."

I don't understand why he was too proud of counting things _accurately_ , even if he could not touch it. "And what do you do with these stars?"

"What do I do with them?"

I nodded, patiently waiting for an answer.

"Nothing. I own them." Nero answered.

That surprised me. "Own? King Kaito already—"

"Kings do not _own_ stars, they _reign_ over them. That's a different matter."

"Then your _property_ is under the rule of the king, and that makes you King Kaito's subordinate. I see. What good does it do to you? To own stars?"

"It makes me rich!"

"What's good with being rich?"

His gesture took in the stars his arms could seemingly hold and said, "I am able to buy new stars, if any are newly discovered. Back then, my great grandfather owned five-hundred-and-one-million . . . "

I never listened to him and his accurate counting as I looked around to see nothing but papers piled up side by side. All his life he was only listing down the figures that would indicate his affluence. This piles of paper showed how his grandfathers did the same thing.

But maybe the tippler- _woman_ had affected his reasoning, for he rationalized as circular as the drunken woman. Nevertheless, that didn't stop me from asking what prick my curiosity.

"My grandfather would always stare at the starry sky. Since you own the stars, can you talk to them?"

"Why would I talk to them! I told you, I am concerned with the matter of consequence. Talking to them is a waste of time! They're nothing special," he answered.

I actually had my hopes high for I thought he knew what _is_ there in the starry sky. But whatever he just said now, it doesn't make sense to me. "If stars are nothing special, why did your grandfathers waste a lifetime counting and owning them? If it's nothing special, then what you are doing too is nothing special."

He opened his mouth to say something, but I turned around hearing the fluttering of the wings that announced my departure. Before he could say anything, I interrupted him. "You are no use to them, and they are no use to you other than being _markers_ of richness — of _nothing_ _special_. Good-bye, Mr. Nero." The birds hoisted me from the ground. "Grown-ups are certainly altogether extraordinary. I'm utterly different from them."

* * *

The fifth planet was very odd. It was the smallest of all planet I visited—smaller than B-612. There was just enough space for a lamp post and a lamplighter, but I couldn't find a reason why they had to be there when there were no houses and no people. The lamplighter looked calm but something was going on. Though she looked absurd, she was probably more sensible than King Kaito, Gakupo the _show-off,_ Mr. Nero the businessman, and Ms. Tippler.

"Lighting a lamp amid the nothingness is like lighting stars and setting them to sleep. She might know why grandfather is always looking at the starry sky!" The birds brought me down, and they perched on my shoulders and feet. We were crammed. "H'llo," I greeted. "Why have you just put out your lamp?"

"Those are my orders," she replied and glanced at me as she brought down her staff. "Hello. You must be the little prince?"

And for the fifth time, I frowned. The birds were surely taking me to places where my grandfather had visited once. "I am not the little prince, I am his grandson. My name is Len. What are your orders?" There were no other souls here aside from us, so who gave her the orders?

"To put out my lamp. Goodnight," she said and re-lit the lamp by raising the lit staff. "By the way, I am Gumi. The old lamplighter had told me about your grandfather." Her voice sounded sad and tired, perhaps exhausted from putting out and illuminating her only lamp. It must be a tough job.

"But you just re-lit it? I don't understand."

"Those are my orders," she yawned and rubbed her eyes with her hands. "Orders are orders, nothing to understand. Hello," she weakly smiled to me.

And she put out her lamp.

"This job is terribly simple. When I came here to replace the old lamplighter, it used to be simple. All I have to do was to put the lamp out by morning and re-lit it in the evening. Then, I have the all day for myself to relax."

While she talked, her face made the expressions I hadn't seen from the people I met earlier . . . but she somehow looked cross like the businessman, however she was not irritated to me like Mr. Nero.

"And have your orders changed?" The birds flew down on the ground and pecked on the cold dry ground. When she replied, her voice startled the birds and they flew away from me.

"No! And that's the problem! The planet had rotated quicker every year—it was completing its spin once a minute. And the time passed so much, I have no time to rest." And it dawned to me the she was actually lazy, but still faithful on her job.

"You are turning a blind eye on your work, and yet you complain. If you are tired," I looked around to check the little planet, "you can walk a few steps and it will be ' _day'_ again. You can rest, just move around."

"I just want to rest all day. Look! We are already talking for a month! Thirty minutes is thirty days!"

"That is funny," I chuckled.

"It isn't," she countered, lifting up her lit shaft to the post. "Good night. What I like best is sleeping. You can tell that I'm very tired."

I only nodded and twirled around. My hand reached the back of my head and scratched it—my hands had grown bigger. Am I beginning to grow up? I actually like this lamplighter. My grandfather might have liked the old lamplighter, too. She is faithful to her work, and she can see many sunsets!

"That's bad luck." I grabbed the cord as the birds flapped their wings.

"It is," she sighed and put out the lamp. "Good morning."

She and I could be friends, for she wasn't as conceited as Gakupo, and wasn't as circular as Mr. Nero and the tippler, neither as proud as King Kaito. But her place was too small, there was no room for two.

"Goodbye, Gumi."

"Goodbye," she lit the lamp again. "Have a safe trip, little prince." For the second time, I frowned at her. I _am_ not the little prince.

* * *

The sixth planet was the biggest place I had seen. It was six times bigger than the previous ones combined altogether. It was inhabited by a weary looking man, his hair was still black and it was brushed up. His high forehead told me that he had loads of ideas stored in his head.

When the birds dropped me, I felt like I never had tasted air. I was tired, probably more exhausted than Gumi the lamplighter, for I had travelled such a long way! I lost count of how many days and nights that had passed by as the birds flew me from place to place. I quickly laid back on the ground and sighed.

"Well, look at what we have here! An explorer!" He leaned forward on his table to peer down at me. "Where do you come from, little man?" He asked politely.

"Call me Len. What is that big fat book?" I asked. "What are you doing?"

"I am called Big Al, and I am a geographer. From my grandfather's journal, I see no records saying that the little prince has a name." He ducked out of his seat to rummage to lower drawers, until he raised an old journal bound with thin straw.

"For I am not the little prince," I sat up and propped my palms on the ground. It was a big planet, clean and pretty. "What is a 'geographer'?"

"A scholar who knows where the mountains, the river, the towns, the seas, and the deserts are." He was busy flipping the yellow pages of the old journal as he answered. Now, that was a real occupation.

"How brilliant! So where are the rivers in this place?"

"I don't know."

I shot him a puzzled look even though he wouldn't raise his head to me. "I thought you know where those things are?"

"I never have left this seat. What I do is to list them down here," he pointed the big book, "here in this big fat book. Finding them is the _'explorers"_ work, not mine."

"You're utterly ironic," I commented.

"That's the division of labor. Ah—you are the prince, the descriptions in my grandfather's journal are accurate. The muffler, the golden hair, the curiosity and all! He never wrote you're named Len!" Big Al quickly grabbed his pen and scribbled something on that brittle page, and he looked satisfied after doing so. "Well, pray do tell me how does your place look like now,"

"Before I may tell you so, I want you to know that I am not the little prince. The child who visited your grandfather long ago was my grandfather. I am Len, and I am not the little prince." I frowned at him as though he was a replica of all people I met from previous planets. "My place is a tiny dwelling. We have three volcanoes; two are active, one is extinct. My grandpa is taking care of his rose."

"We don't write roses—or any flowers, or plants, probably." He opened the big fat book and nodded for some reason I don't know. "It hasn't changed." He mumbled.

"Why do you not write them?"

"They are ephemeral."

"What does that mean?"

Big Al tilted his face to look at me intently, smiling like a noble gentleman he was. "You asked the same question,"

"It's my first time asking. What does that mean— _'ephemeral'_?" I repeated.

"Geographies," he began, "are the books which, of all books, are most concerned with matters of consequences. They are timeless. Thus, we write down eternal things—not the ones with short lives. A mountain will never move, an ocean will rarely empty itself of its waters."

"But my grandfather's volcano may come back to life—you'll never know." I scowled at him, realizing that he was not different with the other people I met earlier. He wouldn't know what the stars tell to my father as well.

"I am concerned with mountains," he clicked his pen.

"My grandfather's flower is blooming again and again," I interrupted. "Isn't that a cycle? It will remain." I paused a little and pondered on things. "If you are concerned with eternal things, then why did your grandfather wrote something about my grandpa? Isn't human memory short-lived and fickle, too?"

" _Humans_ are ephemeral, too. Just like your grandfather's rose. We don't write humans—just memories. Memories stay but not humans."

I looked at him with bewilderment. It only meant one thing — it could not mean anything. My grandfather is ephemeral. And unlike his rose, he wouldn't be born again in the physical world and his memories would be the only thing left to me. It sunk my heart, the truth about his gray locks, his frail body, and his smiles. Why did he want me to leave him there to know all these?

"Do you . . ." and my voice surprisingly sounded sullen like my heart. "Do you know a good place where I can go?"

Big Al flipped the pages of his big fat book and said, "you may go to Earth, your grandfather reported that it was a great place." He smiled at me. I see no reason to return that smile. "Len, I hope you will find the reason why the little prince was staring at the black sea of universe."

Before I could ask how he learned why I was wandering, the birds pulled me away from his planet.

* * *

 **Shirai Hisaishi:** _I have this story idea in my writing journal since February so I finally decided to write this one. It's supposed to be a one shot story but I'm too lazy to put all the_ _ **awesomeness**_ _of 'Le Petit Prince' in a one shot. This is a spin-off from the classic book 'Le Petit Prince' obviously. This chapter/part was surely an almost-replica of the original work (and honestly, it's hard to stay faithful with the original writing style). I don't own Le Petit Prince nor Vocaloids_ — and this is retold in my perspective while borrowing _few_ statements from the original piece.


	2. Chapter 2

**The rose, the fox, and the aviator.**

(II)

And so the seventh planet was Earth. The flight to Earth was as lonely and as quiet as the first time I left B-612. The fact that my grandfather was left alone in our planet kept me preoccupied. That word, _ephemeral,_ was such a lonely word which revealed the common truth among living things. It saddened me. My wanting to go back to B-612 was just amplified.

"What was Earth like?" I asked the eldest bird of the flock.

"It is spacious, big. All the planets you visited, B-612 included, could fit in it," he answered. "There are millions or billions of humans inhabiting it."

"When my grandpa was a little prince, was he sullen when he realized that his rose was _ephemeral_?"

"Anyone would be," the bird continued flying. "Goodbyes are hard to say after all."

"But why did he continue visiting Earth?" I gripped the cord tightly. "He could have turned back to stay with her." But the bird remained silent. I didn't stop asking. "She would be born again and again; she would wither and shed her petals, but after some long days of watering and tending, she would bloom again. Being ephemeral wasn't _that_ saddening for her."

"And the little prince is ephemeral in a different way." The bird didn't spare me a glance. "That would be saddening for her."

I heard from the eldest bird that Earth was occupied with billions of people. He said, "this is how their population is divided in ascending order: the fewest number of people accounts to the kings and their families. People who _'reign'_ are relatively few but absolute. Next was the businessmen. They were the ones benefitting from the kings. Geographers followed the businessmen. Albeit they do not work for them, or they probably do, scholars — or simply _'thinkers' —_ aren't abundant in the population. The next ones would be the lamplighters — the workers striving hard and complaining at the same time. The biggest percentage of the population, however, was consist of show-offs and drunkards, and nothing could be expected from them. Well, show-offs were quite witty, they could be with the kings, businessmen, scholars, and lamplighters. You wouldn't notice until they spoke."

That was what the bird instructed me about people living in Earth. They were billions in number, but not as many as the stars Mr. Nero owned. It was a large planet, indeed, for they all fit in there. The bird also told me that my grandfather met the fox and pilot here. It worried me. For some unknown reason—it worried me.

As we approached the blue sphere with swirling whiteness, my mind urged me to fly back to B-612.

I was told that my grandfather met a snake the first time he set foot here. So instead of leaving me in a desert, an everlasting greenness and comeliness were the first things I saw and not a barren desolated sandy terrain.

Beautiful — that was my first impression with earth. There were many butterflies, birds, roses, plants — that weren't as unpleasant as baobabs — and animals here. The wind was cool and comforting, but sometimes it was warm, sometimes it was cold. Sometimes there was no wind at all. The clouds were funny and annoying at the same time, for they obstruct the view of starry night.

"H'llo," I yelled to the fat cloud above me. He was shielding the scorching sunlight. "Why are you so white . . . and big?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "You wouldn't like me if I was gray."

"And why is that so?"

He shrugged again. "I'd bring buckets of rain. I will be gray soon, though."

And I was saddened with his words. "You'll grow old? You're going to be a grownup? You're ephemeral?" Because he reminded me of grandfather, the so-called little prince.

"Probably," was his only answer.

"You're like my grandfather," he only blinked at me. "He will surely bring out _my_ buckets of tears if he—you know what. His hair is already gray."

"Humans," the cloud murmured. "You are certainly odd."

* * *

The night came and I was seated at the foot of the small hill. It was cold. Like the deafening silence on my first flight, the stillness was hammering on my ears. Just when I thought that I would fall asleep, I was startled when a small voice broke the silence.

"Who are you?" it said.

I looked around but I saw no one. I must be delusional, perhaps too lonely after being separated from my grandfather.

"Here, I am here! Beside you!"

I looked down at the rock as huge as my fist, resting still beside me. "Who are you?" I asked him.

"I believe that I asked that first," said he.

"I am not the little prince." I said, knowing that he might as well say that I was my grandfather. However, I was surprised when he only laughed at me. I was never wrong with my introduction, but today was an exception.

"Why would I think you were? Whoever this _'little prince'_ was," he chuckled. "So, who really are you?"

"Are you telling me that you never heard of him?" the stone nodded at me. "It is a queer place. Do you mean humans do not know the little prince as well?" the stone nodded again. "My name is Len. What are you?"

"I am a stone, of course." He reminded me of my grandfather's rose when he introduced himself.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"That's bad luck," I frowned at him. "It must be tough doing nothing."

"Not at all." He answered. "I'm not tough, you know."

My fist knocked him, and I was quite sure that he was hard enough. "But you are solid . . . hard?"

"Toughness doesn't account with how _tough_ you seem to appear. We aren't like humans. We aren't pretentious like them," he grumbled. "Tiny water droplets get into us, they weaken us, and after some long years, we will breakdown and be a part of earth."

"Humans do pretend?" I gazed at the stars. "And rocks do not?"

"They do. That's why they are weak — they don't admit their weakness and they think that is strength." After some minutes, he spoke again, "they are eerie species residing this place."

* * *

I had spent a lot more days in this eternal greenness. There were rose-trees aligned in rows, hundreds of them were prohibited to grow wider than what the cord tied on poles indicated. Their thorns were small but a great deal. When they were together like this, predators wouldn't target them. But if they would live alone like my grandfather's rose, survival was not in sight. I was looking at the green buds that sprouted from the soft stems of these roses when I heard a rustling at the end of this row.

Then a young girl came out while hugging a basket of red roses in full bloom. She was not bigger than me, and it was my first time meeting a child. She lifted her hat to look at me, and a wide smile stretched her tiny lips.

"Hello! You look familiar. Who are you?" she asked. I only walked towards her. "You like roses, too? My grandfather never mentioned that there was a boy in here."

"I don't like roses," I told her truthfully. Her frown was the first thing I never expected from others. I thought I was the only one frowning at others. "They are too proud of their beauty, they boast it not knowing that beauty isn't everlasting."

"I thought so too," she picked a flower and gave it to me. "But beauty is not always seen."

"I don't understand." I took the rose from her and stared at it but there was nothing strange. I gazed at her from head to toe, but she wasn't an adult. So, why? Why couldn't I understand her? "You aren't a grownup."

"So you are," she smiled again. "What is your name?"

"What is your name?" I asked back.

She frowned. "You must answer first, because I asked it first."

"You sounded like King Kaito." It's my turn to frown at her. The rose, I placed it back in her basket and tugged my muffler close to my mouth. "I am not the little prince."

Her eyes widened, but she wasn't vexed like Mr. Nero. In fact, she looked delighted. "It was said that when people deny something, the truth was the opposite. You must be _the_ little prince!"

"I said I wasn't," my tone raised surprisingly. "My name is Len, and the little prince was my grandfather."

"Eh? Your grandfather? Why is he the _'little prince'?_ Is he still a child? That is . . . weird," she sagged her shoulders as she gently settled the basket near her feet. Her hair dangled to her shoulders, it was short and straight and colored like the morning sky.

"He wasn't little anymore. That's what I told everyone," I turned around and studied the green buds again. Talking to a child was more entertaining than conversing with adults. They couldn't understand things by themselves. "They all thought I was him. By the way, who are you?"

"I am Miku," she stood next to me and bent down to examine the rosebuds as well. "I am the aviat—" she was unable to continue what she was supposed to say when a loud deep voice spoke out of nowhere.

"Miku!" It sounded hoarse, just like my grandfather's voice. "Miku!" Again and again, her name was called.

"That's gramps looking for me," she ran and grabbed her basket of roses. Her skin was beginning to redden. Before she turn back to where she came out, she perked her head to my direction, "will I see you again?"

I only shrugged. Reunions are pointless for me, unless it is reasonable. Now, that sounds like King Kaito. Well, it doesn't matter. I want to go back to my grandfather.

She nodded and smiled the last time. "Let's meet again, Len!"

"Sure." I bit on my muffler and went back fondling the rosebud. "Hey, rosebud," I whispered. "Come out and forget your vanity. And then we will be friends."

* * *

When people aim to learn things more than what they already know, they have to step out of their own shell and explore the world. So I am here, leaving the rose-trees orchard after some weeks — unintentionally.

I was asleep when I felt the cart shaking. The hay that reminded me of my hair was rustling softly at every thud. I peeped at the small gap of these wooden cart nailed together and saw the ground was moving. Or was it the cart?

When I finally stood and saw what was happening, the rose-trees orchard was already a mile away. It was like a tiny smudge of bright foliage against the wide canvas where huge mountains and eternal blue sky were already painted. I kept an eye on it, still wanting to hop down from this cart. The rosebud would be a good flower if I only I was there until she showed herself.

My efforts wouldn't be in vain if I would be able to raise her as a humble rose — unlike grandfather's flower. My grandfather, perhaps, had forgotten to talk to her when she was still nothing but a sprout. And her vanity began when grandpa talked to her, words of compliment fed her pride.

But no, I wasn't there. Maybe I was destined to like her, to hope that she would be a good flower. But I wasn't meant to stay. Since I had no other choice, I crouched back on my seat, snuggled on the haystack, and went back to sleep. I ought to see the unseen. That rose wouldn't know why grandpa stared at the starry sky. For I had to learn a lot new things, I decided to leave.

It was clamorous. I had lost track of time when I finally woke up. The noise that stirred me up grew louder and clearer: it was the clattering of metal and shrilling of what seemed to be a huge whistle. There was a long fleeting trail of black cloud above me, but it wasn't too high to taint the white clouds. And there was the shrilling noise again, and metals clattered louder as if it would fall apart. I stood realizing that I was moving faster than earlier, and the huge mountains hiding the breaking dawn were now as small as my thumb.

That was when I overheard this:

"Dex! Look! There is a boy in the cart! Who is he?"

"I don't know!"

"Go and get him! Hurry!"

"My friend," I looked around and saw a man with brown skin and amber eyes, reaching out for me. His gray hair reminded me of my grandfather, but his face was deprived of wrinkles. "Hey, it is dangerous there. Come with me, don't worry. I won't hurt you."

"What is this fast-moving thing called?" I looked back on the trees passing by us. Earth was surely huge. "And what does that mean— _friend?_ "

"Can we talk about that later? It is safer to talk inside the train." His voice was raspy against the deafening wind. He didn't take back his hand, it was patiently waiting for me to grab it. Half of his body was propped up from the metallic railing, long arms extended to me. "Let's go."

I held his hands.

Dex and Daina were childless couples who used to work for the rose-trees orchard as gardeners. Due to some circumstances, such as life getting tougher lately, they decided to quit their jobs to find a greater opportunity in the city. It so happened that the cart where I used to sleep, they owned it. Apparently, none of the couples had seen me in the orchard before.

They took me in and treated me like their child. Dex taught me everything I wanted to know, he answered the questions I had — albeit most of the times he didn't know how to explain things. Daina, on the other hand, taught everything else Dex couldn't answer. When none of them could answer me, I would search for the answers instead.

"What does thatmean — _friend_?"

"It is easier to understand if you find one." Daina ruffled my hair.

I only frowned at her, for another ambiguous answer was said

* * *

to me. Grown-ups are definitely vague. They don't explain things in the simplest way.

The city was filled with people. It was a mixture of businessmen and lamplighters and drunkards and show-offs — or a combination of any of these. The clouds weren't white and they were low; they were emitted from the vehicles. City noise filled the place, so there wasn't a single second of silence. Was it good or bad—I wasn't the one to decide. Sometimes I wished not to hear silences, sometimes I wished to hear it.

I was still a boy when I first wanted to hear silence. There was a misunderstanding between my foster parents that time. Dex and Daina were yelling to each other, voices high-pitched and full of rage. Daina's eyes were glimmering with tears, and Dex's eyes were mad.

I realized that life isn't tough. Living is.

The next thing I knew, the ceramic plates were broken, the huge China vases were shredded into pieces. Daina sounded so pained as she cried. Dex cursed life. It wouldn't work out, he yelled. Love was shit, it wouldn't feed us — and the night was filled with words I couldn't comprehend.

I was five inches taller than my former height when I heard the first unwanted silence. It was not _my_ silence that was saddening, it was Dex's silence. I was about to leave to go to school — that place was a sanctuary for young people, a midpoint between youth and adulthood. Daina and Dex never had a peaceful day with each other. The two of them were important to me, as important as my grandfather. And the curious boy I was, stayed behind the service door.

"Are you leaving, Dex?" Daina''s voice was quivering.

"Yes." He replied shortly.

"Don't you love us anymore? Len and I need you." She sniffed like a child and I found that funny. I shouldn't be thinking this way, but whenever she would sniff, things looked funny to me. "Don't you love me anymore, Dex?"

It was that time when I heard the unwanted silence.

Dex replied nothing. It was such a heavy moment for me, and it was absolutely not funny. He said nothing at all. His eyes were glued on his feet, fingers gripped tightly around his bag strap. Without another word, he turned around and left the house.

And never came back.

Their bond, whatever it is called, is _ephemeral_. I wonder if it is the kind of ephemeral that renews like the rose's, or is it the kind that will never be reborn.

* * *

Many years had passed. The green chemise and green pants and golden muffler my grandfather had given me no longer fit my body. I first noticed how much I had grown up when I was able to face Daina, my eyes meeting hers without looking up.

"You . . . shrank?" I told her. She said she did not shrink, I grew taller instead. "I'm a grownup?"

"Certainly," she said and clipped the ends of the bedsheets on the clothesline. "You are already . . . how old are you again? It has been a decade I took care of you,"

I glanced at the basket of wet blankets I was holding, and mentally counted how old am I. "Eighteen, I think? The Zola brothers said I can help you now. I am on a legal age, they said."

After Dex left us, Daina couldn't support me from studying. I was willing to give it up, saying that true learning doesn't take place in an educational institution alone. I ought to see the unseen, ought to know the untaught.

"The city life isn't our kind of living," Daina told me out of the blue. "Maybe we should get back to the orchard? I met the granddaughter of the orchardman and she said the old man wanted us back. It's just sad Dex wasn't with us."

"It isn't sad at all," I grabbed a blanket and handed it to her. "I am still here. We shall be fine. I don't like the city, too. I can't sleep well." What I wanted to say is that we were fine even without him. Daina was able to raise without his help.

She only smiled at me and ruffled my hair, then she went back hanging the blankets on the clothesline.

* * *

Some days after that conversation, I found myself riding a pickup truck. The huge mountains were bordering the end of scenery, its peaks were seemingly touching the sky. Daina was smiling at me so motherly, delighted to see that I was excited to get back in the orchard. Well, I was curious what happened to the rose.

I was slowly going back to where I came from. The sky was now dyed with the colors of dusk. Was he still waiting for me to come back? Was my grandfather still sitting there and watching the stars like I do? I hadn't met a rose, a fox, or an aviator. He must be upset with my failure.

The next day came and we met the son of the orchardman. The owner passed away some years ago. His son, who was managing the orchard now, was a man in his early 40's whose lines on his forehead were permanently embossed there. He had this beautiful hair that reminded me of the morning sky.

"I haven't heard of you for so long, Daina. I'm sorry with what happened with your relationship with Dex."

My mother only smiled at him.

"What does that mean — _relationship_?" I unintentionally drew the attention of the _'new'_ orchardman. Daina said it was rude to butt in with that talks of elderly, so I felt embarrassed.

"Hey there," he narrowed his eyes to me. I realized that he had white hair growing at the root of his hair. He was . . . ephemeral. "Are you her child?" I only nodded. "Have you tried working in an orchard?"

"I was taking care of a single rose in this plantation before," I said.

He cupped his chin and furrowed his brows. "Queer, I never had seen you."

"I was a little man back then," I quickly interrupted. His chuckle was insulting me. There was nothing funny with my statement. "What does _'relationship'_ mean?"

"Well, I assume that you want to work for the rose orchard? The roses weren't as plenty as they used to be. Majority of the land was converted to be a vineyard. The rose garden, however, is a personal bit of earth owned by my daughter. She loved her gramps so much, the roses reminded her of the old man." I only shot him a quizzical look. "That is a relationship."

"What you said was way too vague for me," I countered.

"You have to see it yourself, because that is something unseen."

"Is that a riddle?"

He only chuckled.

* * *

I stared at the little lush dwelling. The cords tied up on poles were no longer standing anywhere, and the rose-trees were free to grow as much as they wanted. It was like a sanctuary of butterflies fluttering in and out, green and red blended very well.

I stooped low and fondled a rosebud between my thumb and forefinger. "H'llo rosebud," I greeted. "I lost my rosebud here long ago. But I will tell you a secret: come out and forget your vanity. And then we will be good friends."

If someone learned what he wished to learn, and that seemed enough, it was the time to answer the questions that brought him to places. And I knew now, that my journey was about to end.

The bushes on the other end of this of row of roses rustled, and I fixated my eyes in anticipation. It wouldn't be a harmful animal, this place was so sheltered to be inhabited by predators.

Then came out a lady in yellow summer dress, her hat covered her upper face. She was alarmed by my presence—in a queer manner. It was as if my existence in that place delighted her. But she was supposed to be wary of a stranger in her garden. When she approached me, I tugged my old muffler close to my lips.

"Hello! You must be the gardener my father talked about! Is it true that you are Daina's child?"

I only nodded and watched her remove her hat. Long locks of teal hair cascaded from her shoulders to her waist. Her tiny lips were tugged in a sweet smile. She was an eccentric beautiful lady.

"I am Miku," she said. Her name does ring bells. "I am the aviator's granddaughter."

"The aviator?"

She nodded a swift assent. "He was known here that way — 'the aviator'. So whenever I would go here and spend summer, I would introduce myself that way. But you looked like you hadn't met him at all." She sat on folded knees, eyes sparkling at me. "You look lonesome. What's your name?"

"Len."

"Don't you have friends, Len?"

I blinked at her. "I don't have friends. I don't know what does it mean. When I was in third grade, I asked my classmates what are friends but they said nothing."

"They are surely not your friends. Friend is a person whose company one enjoys and towards whom one feels affection." She stared at the rosebud I was petting.

"What does it take to be a friend?"

"A bond? Some sort of relationship unique from others?" She sounded unsure herself.

"Relationship? Bond? I don't understand." Whenever I would hear these words, I couldn't stop thinking with Dex and Daina's bond. It was vulnerable, breakable.

"I have heard from Daina that you weren't able to finish middle school. If you were exposed to people, you would understand. Oh! Do you like roses?"

And this talk is too nostalgic. "I don't like roses. I just want to understand why grandfather loved taking care of his rose . . . even if she's ephemeral. Her beauty would end."

"He must love her," she mumbled. "He would take the risk of being alone because he was tamed by her."

And again, I don't understand a thing. Everything seemed ironic.

She continued, "we are all ephemeral. So to stay by one's side until the end, that must be love."

"Even if her vanity was tormenting?"

"To love is to embrace one wholly."

"Even if she is pretentious?"

"To love is to see one thoroughly, to read the lies."

"Even if she would end one day?"

Miku laughed and tucked locks of her hair behind her ear. "Love wouldn't end. If you insist that your grandfather shouldn't stay with her because she was vexing, that she had a short life; it is like saying that we shouldn't live because we will all end one day, too."

I stared at her as she jolted up and picked the sprinkler. "Hurry up, we have to remove the worms!"

She was as old as me, but she wasn't thinking like a grownup.

* * *

I enjoyed my stay here. Daina and I liked this place better than the city. The clouds were white and high. When the clouds would pour torrents of rain, I would bathe under it. Miku would join me and we would run around like two children while playing with the puddles on the ground.

The stars were the prettiest part of living here. One time, Miku caught me laying down on the balcony, staring blankly at the stars. She was curious so she asked where I was looking.

"To my planet." I replied indifferently.

"What?"

"I'm not from Earth, Miku."

"Where are you from?" She was holding back her laughter.

"B-612."

She stood and walked away. When she came back, she threw a thin book to me. "Are you an avid fan of that book?"

The illustrations in the book were funny, nonetheless accurate. The details as well. It was like a record of my grandfather's voyage. "He was my grandfather. The little prince."

"Impossible."

"And what is possible to you?"

"Something realistic." She smiled and sat down beside me. "That book was fictional. Gramps wrote it when he was lost in Sahara desert. It was just like a reflection about things often neglected."

I sat and tilted my head to face her. "So you don't believe me?"

"I wanted to, but it's really impossible. The little prince died. The snake had bitten him so he could go back home. It was a representation of how He took the sins of the world," she stared deeply into my eyes. "Nobody believed my gramps that the little prince was existing."

"Is my presence before you not enough?" It was bothering me. She didn't answer me, she only fluttered her eyes close. I was given time to introspect the lady before me, a girl who never had forgotten how to be a child. I loosened my muffler and share it with her, wrapping it around her neck. The wind was colder now.

"Gramps was always waiting for the little prince to come back," she mumbled as leaned on my shoulder. "When I was young, I believed the same. But I grew up. I realized that everything was fictional."

"Do you believe the things your eyes can see?"

"Yes, that makes them realistic."

I exhaled a great deal of stress. The answers were dawning to me. "And those you can't see, don't you believe them?"

I felt her nod against my shoulder. "There are things unseen that are really nonexistent."

"Then, love. Don't you believe love? Friendships? Don't you believe them? These are bonds invisible to eyes, Miku."

She did not answer. I stared back at the sky and admired the small glittering stars. Grandfather was staring back in time, staring back at the precious things residing from the stars and planets. The things unseen, that made them worthwhile.

As I glance down at Miku, I realized that what I am seeing is no more than a shell. What resides inside her, that is essential. That, is invisible.

"Miku?"

"Yes,"

"Can we be friends?"

"Read the book and we'll see that. Tame me, Len." She sat up and grinned at me. Her long locks fluttered against the gentle breeze. "Tame me, Len. Make me believe." I nodded.

The next morning came and I was up earlier than usual. I was tending the roses, weeding them, while Daina was helping me. She was pushing a barrow where I put all the weeds I pulled out.

"I wonder why you work too early,"

"I have to tame Miku, mother." I smiled at her. "So we can be friends."

"Ah, I think I've heard that from a book."

"Le Petit Prince?" I laughed and rose from crouching on the soil.

She nodded. "That is a wonderful book."

"The little prince is my grandfather." Like Miku, she only laughed.

"Get your work done and I will prepare our breakfast."

Daina disappeared from the little garden, but she was replaced by Miku, who was in a hurry while dragging the plough with her. When she saw me almost done with her morning work, she only gaped.

"Len," she walked to me. "You finished everything? Wow."

"Well, yes. I don't know how am I suppose to tame you." I said, scratching to back of my ear with my hand. We weren't the little prince and the fox. If we were, things would be easier. "I was already tamed by you. I wonder what would it take for you to return that."

Miku only snickered and tipped her hat to me.

Our days were spent that way. Miku and I busied ourselves taking care of her rose garden, but sometimes we would help Daina with her work in the vineyard. Miku liked picking the grapes, she would pop some to me. I was always forced to taste the grapes. On the other hand, Daina would only laugh and encourage her to do a lot more nonsense. But it was fun.

There was nothing too hard to do when it never felt like work, and this feeling was called enjoyment. Whenever I was with Miku and Daina, there were no sullen moments of nostalgia. My longing for B-612 was partly cured. But as long as I could see the stars, I would always yearn to go back to the place where I belonged.

"Will you look for a snake to bite you so you can go back to your asteroid, Len?" Miku spotted me laying down on the balcony again, one night. I looked up to her and shrugged.

"Do you want me to leave so soon?" It was supposed to be a joke, but my sense of humor was not funny at all.

"No. If I may express it so, I want you to stay. But that's being selfish." She lay down beside me, eyes looking up to the twinkling stars. "You can go home now, I am tamed."

"Shall you cry?"

"Anyone will," she said gloomily. "Goodbyes aren't good after all."

The two of us remained quiet for sometime, until the stillness was broken by a groggy engine passing across the fields. We jolted up to sit and watched the old pickup truck to park under the apple tree, and three people came out of it. One of them was a child. For some reason Miku ran away from here, and I saw her running to the blond lad.

I spent the rest of the night staring at the stars all by myself.

* * *

The next mornings were laced with oddity. Miku was not coming to see me or visit her rose garden. Daina said that she hadn't seen the lady in the orchard lately. Such strangeness continued until a week was over. It made me curious about her deeds, I was tamed by her after all. Her morning greetings were badly missed. Whenever I would gaze at the early morning sky, she was the first thing to pop in my mind.

So I decided to visit her in the family room of the house. We stayed in the same house, but Daina and I were using the servants' quarter. You knew it very well that the balcony was the only space we shared.

She was seated on a rocking chair with the blond lad on her lap. Albeit the white lacy curtains draped on the clear glass wall, the sunlight passed through it perfectly. The two of them were bathing with the calm morning light, and her voice filled the quiet room.

"Pardon," I coughed to get her attention. "Miku?" When she looked at me, it was as if our first meeting. It was awkward and full of tension for me — at least for me, it was. She was peering at me oddly, and I realized I was carrying the garden tools with me. "I — I just . . . uh, want to know how you're doing," it wasn't normal for me to stammer in front her. We talked a lot and I never stammered.

Am I nervous?

We haven't spoken in a week, being with her felt so suffocating.

Miku brought the blond kid down, who turned around and faced me. He had this round amber eyes staring at me as if he knew who I was. She grabbed his hand and walked him to me. "Hello. Why are you here?"

"I already said it," I couldn't bring myself to stare at her. I wonder why. "Don't you like your roses anymore?"

But she dodged all these.

Smoothly.

"Oh, Len! I want you to meet my little cousin, he's Oliver. Oliver, baby, this is Len."

Baby? He looks like he is already four. Is that still a baby?

"Uh, hello - hello, Oliver."

He only smiled and turned to stare at Miku. Then he spoke cheerfully, "can I play in the vineyard?" Even without an answer, he left Miku. That was rude. Manners should be taught to youngsters. I watched him run away from us, making happy noises down the hall.

For a short while of watching the boy to leave the room, I forgot that Miku was with me. If she didn't cough to beat me out of my trance, I would probably glue my eyes to Oliver's shrinking body.

"I'm sorry," I said, turning my head to her. "Are you mad?"

She shrugged. "I'm not. I'm _sad,_ yes." Her voice turned up at that word _—sad._ This sadness she was talking about, I hadn't noticed it these past days we were together. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, eyes averting my face.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No," she turned up her nose and winced her head, her brows furrowed like her father's when he would ponder on some issues. "No," her voice was low and breathless.

The lady before me was a shell, I needed to see the unseen. There was something weighing her down and she wouldn't show it. I reached out and grabbed her hands and held it in between my earth-covered palms. "It would be easier if you'd say it clearly,"

She dared to look at me in the eye, and I saw what the stars sparkle at night. Her tears streamed down, but I couldn't understand why she was crying. People cry when they were pained. She must be in pain.

"I am afraid of growing up. I never wanted to grow up," her shoulders quivered as she took her hands away from me, only to wrap her arms around me. She was a fragile shell, a weak rock, eaten by a simple dread. "I want to travel back in time and spend summertimes with gramps. I miss him,"

"I'm not afraid of growing up," I whispered to her ear. "Because the memory of my grandfather is always with me. I will never forget."

"Then let me clarify my point," she pulled away and wiped her tears with her sleeves. "I want to be a child forever. Life is so simple as a child, you can sleep on problems and tomorrow they're gone."

"Not all children think the same."

"I just want to remain a child, stay with gramps and watch you talk to your rose—" she stopped talking, surprised with her own words. She was watching me before?

I smiled in reply, and said:

"When Daina and I were still living in the city, we had nice neighbors. The Zola brothers. Wil, the eldest I think, told me this thing when I confessed that I never wanted to grow up: you can remain _childlike_ forever, and it's like you'll never grow up."

Miku's eyes widened in bewilderment.

"Let's remain this way forever. Let's stop growing up," I suggested. The sense of contentment crossed me, and the words my grandfather told me when I left B-612 echoed in my head. The things invisible, I saw it in her. There was the fox in her, like the fox my grandfather tamed; the rose that was not as arrogant as my grandfather's rose. She was the rose I believed to be miraculous; the aviator, I saw him in her. When I found all these, I should not come back in my asteroid.

Though my journey was totally different than the little prince's, it's fine. No two individuals are exactly alike. Walking on the same path won't always lead to the same endpoint.

"I won't leave you."

"What about your grandfather?"

"He's always looking at me from where he is seated right now. And I am looking at him from where I am right now. Whenever I look at that certain starlight, I know I'll never be lost."

Her tears continued to stream, and it was puzzling me. She pulled me to her arms and whispered a secret, "your heart is up there, go back."

I know she wouldn't understand it. She wouldn't understand it but I wouldn't leave her. I was tamed and I tamed her, and one should take the responsibility for what he tamed.

That's what friends are for.

They stay.

* * *

 **Shirai Hisaishi:** _sounds rushed, aye? I know, I know. But thanks for reading! (This update sucks.)_ _ **The end.**_


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